


time crawls on (to the beat of your heart)

by slothy_girl



Series: that spark of black that i seem to love [1]
Category: One Direction (Band), The Addams Family (1991)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Addams Family, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Non-Sexual Bondage, Supernatural Elements, Twisted but Sweet, graphic depictions of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:24:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1820020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slothy_girl/pseuds/slothy_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is a day off. it’s sleeping in and drifting in and out of consciousness, no alarm and no fucks to give. it’s waking up late and pulling a sleeping louis closer because he’s gotten much too far away from harry since he last opened his eyes. it’s sleepy cuddles and slow morning kisses that don’t have to go anywhere and staying in bed all day, if they want to. </p><p>at least, that's what harry is expecting when he goes to sleep that night, louis curled close around him like a warm, clingy limpet.</p><p>what he wakes up to is nothing like that, though he really shouldn't be surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	time crawls on (to the beat of your heart)

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Wow wow wow. So, I have been working on the different parts of this series on and off for the better part of a year now, and I can’t believe the time has finally come to start posting them. This isn’t my first fic, but it is my first 1D fic. It’s sort of a non-au au? Like, it’s set in canon, but some things have been changed that are sort of huge?? This is also a bit of a writing experiment. I had a lot of fun with it!
> 
> Anyway, I am not British in any way except in my ancestry, and this has not been Brit picked. If anyone is interested in helping out or just wants to offer some general constructive criticism, leave a comment or come say hi on my tumblr (slothy-girl)!
> 
> Title from the song “The Phoenix” by Fall Out Boy.
> 
> Thanks: I’m so grateful to so many people for helping to make this fic happen! Firstly, thank you to etothepii (Stochastical) for writing this amazing BBC Sherlock fic series: Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc. I have always loved the Addams family and this series (one of my favorites) really just inspired and expanded my headcanons surrounding people like them, which you all will see throughout this series! Secondly, thank you Jackie for our long talks; they really were some of the most motivational moments I needed to get this fic series off of the ground! Last, but certainly not least, thank you my lovely Jennifer for listening to me ramble about this series and all the details I have thought of for it and thank you for being my beta! All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Possible Trigger Warnings: While I hate to spoil things, I’d rather you all be safe than sorry, so please heed the warnings! This fic contains a graphic scene of gore involving descriptions of one character’s consensually cut open body, the consensual removal of an important organ, and references and implications of the other character experiencing the same. There are also implications of poison consumption, but no one is actually hurt from any of the things listed.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money off of this, and this is in no way a reflection on reality, etc.

waking up slowly is often a luxury harry can’t afford.

typically, on a normal day, waking up involves louis’ cell alarm going off at some godforsaken hour in the morning, the sound grating on his nerves and dragging him mercilessly into consciousness. it’s the faint light of the sun just barely hitting the window as it rises above the horizon. it’s pushing away the scratchy top cover in a hotel room somewhere around the world that isn’t home, that isn’t the house he built together with louis. it’s harry sluggishly rolling over so he’s spread out like a starfish on top of his grumbling, cranky boy, pressing kisses and slurring comforting words and promises against the slightly over heated flesh at nape of his neck.

it’s interviews or photo shoots or both; it’s the potential of mobbing in the very near future. it’s the sad prospect of saying goodbye to louis, sharing kisses over and over again, snagging fingers on waists and necks and hemlines of shirts to drag the other in this one last time, no one more, no this time, before they leave the sanctity of the hotel room. even though they will be with each other through the day, the chances of being able to speak to each other or even be near each other varies and is decidedly lower than they will ever want it to be.

the life of a closeted pop star can be a bit difficult.

(not to say that harry isn’t grateful for the opportunity he’s been given to follow his dreams and do one of the things he loves with some of the people he cares about most, but there are certainly things about this new life he lives that tear at the very fabrics of his being.)

now this- _this_ is nice.

this is a day off. it’s sleeping in and drifting in and out of consciousness, no alarm and no fucks to give, no interviews to go to, no photo shoots. it’s waking up late and pulling a sleeping louis closer because he’s gotten much too far away from harry since he last opened his eyes. it’s sleepy cuddles and slow morning kisses that don’t have to go anywhere and staying in bed all day, if they want to. it’s harry rolling out of bed at louis’ insistence to make a kettle of tea to bring back to bed. it’s sharing a hot cuppa amongst themselves because even though louis complains about how harry takes it with a dash of cyanide (he likes his tea spicy, sue him), he still steals some because he’s already finished his own and he’s too lazy to get up to get himself more. although they are still in some hotel room somewhere in the world, though they are not home, not quite yet, it is an infinitely better morning than usual.

at least, that’s the sort of morning harry is expecting when he goes to sleep that night, louis curled close around him like a warm, clingy limpet.

awareness drifts in around harry in bits and pieces; the feeling of heaviness in his limbs, the sleep sour taste in his mouth, the warmth of the sheets wrapped around his legs. he vaguely registers some movement from louis’ half of the bed, a bit close to harry’s side, a sort of jostling that hints at louis adjusting his position.

at first, he hardly notices, but once he does, it’s like he can’t stop the sudden onslaught of feeling. there is a strange sort of cold seeping inside his chest and an absence, an emptiness, that he can’t quite pinpoint. he feels particularly bare and vulnerable in a way that suggests he is more than naked. he tries to move, to pass a hand over his sternum to investigate without opening his eyes, but he can’t really move either of his arms from where they lie by his side. tugging them even just a little bit makes his chest feel tight, strained, and pulls at his stomach and sides in a way that isn’t painful, but definitely ominous, so he stops.

harry snuffles a sigh and finally opens his eyes, squinting against the late morning light filtering in through the hotel shades. he blinks a few times to get rid of the hazy blur of his vision, shakes his head a bit so his curls aren’t hanging in his eyes, and looks down at his chest to see what the problem is.

well.

he turns his head a bit so he can squint at louis, who is actually sitting cross legged right next to him and not lying down like harry had assumed he was. the blue eyed boy has pillow creases on his forehead and a mad case of bed head. there’s some blood smeared across his face too, over his mouth and up on to his cheeks. it looks fresh and bright red, dripping in some places and collecting into little pools in the dip of his chin and where his smile lines usually are. a few lines march paths down his neck, staining the collar of his shirt. it all makes him look a bit like a vampire or maybe a cannibal, and harry files that image away as something he didn’t know might possibly be a turn on. to be honest though, considering what they are and all, it does not surprise him.

louis looks embarrassed, his eyes a bit wide and tense at the edges, a flush of color blooming across the apples of his cheeks beneath the coating of blood. his arm is held a bit awkwardly behind his back; he’s obviously hiding something. from the state of harry’s chest, harry could probably give a good guess at what.

“really?” harry asks, his voice a bit raspy from sleep. he clears his throat. “you couldn’t just wait for me to wake up, you had to do this while i was sleeping?”

louis huffs and looks away, using his free hand to wipe at his face a bit. it doesn’t help much, just sort of spreads the mess of red and chunky clots around even more so it catches in his hair and makes it stick to his face. “you do it to me all the time.”

guilty as charged.

“besides,” louis continues, “i seem to recall a curly haired lad and several conversations about trust and permission, about wants and needs and limits.”

“hm,” harry hums agreeably; after all, he’s right. if there is one thing he’s quite proud of, it’s their ability as a couple to be honest, for the most part, about those sorts of things, to be conscious of their partner’s feelings and boundaries. the lines in the sand, though few and relatively far between, as it tends to be with people like them, are important and they are both very aware of the possible consequences that crossing those lines could have.

harry smiles at louis, fond and content and _safe_ , and looks down at his chest to inspect the work louis has done on him.

his forearms have been bound to his sides, thin metal wires wrapping around his arms and stomach in turns and meticulous knots, preventing excessive movement that might jostle louis’ work. his entire pectoral region has been split open; a precise, vertical laceration has been made from the dip of his clavicle, right between his two sparrows, to about halfway down the keys of his ribs. the muscles and tissues have been carefully shorn away from his bones and folded over, each flap pinned to his arms with special butterfly studded pins that louis’ mother had gifted to them for their first anniversary as a couple. the pins keep his chest nice and open. his sternum has been neatly snapped off the right half of his rib cage and completely severed from his collarbones (judging by the way the ends of the bone and cartilage look, harry is leaning toward the use of blunt, physical force to get this particular job done) and pushed to the side so as to open his chest cavity, stretching out the skin, to reveal the glistening, healthy pink of a few of his internal organs.

he takes a second to watch his lungs expand with the slow breaths he takes, and then turns back to louis to address what he is still trying to conceal behind his back.

“you know, babe, you’ll either need to give that back or at least give me yours. it’s strange, not having a heart beating directly in my chest.”

louis pouts and moves his arm back to his front, harry’s pounding heart cradled gently in his palm. the tendrils of arteries and veins attached to the pulsing organ sort of droop down like limp tree roots. harry can see the blood inside, watches how it continues to circulate but not burst forth to drench everything in red, stays within that system of tissue even though it is obviously outside and not connected to his body. he can even still feel it beating, feels the blood still being pumped through his body, though the pulse feels sort of displaced instead of the direct feeling he has when its lodged in his chest properly. it looks good though, alive and well and nothing like the cold, purple brown of a dying one. harry’s seen enough of those to be able to tell.

louis caresses the organ tenderly, always aware of just how delicate the heart is and how little force it would take to crush it; he knows how much it means for him to be trusted to hold his lover’s heart, literally, in his hand and knows harry feels the same whenever he gets a chance to do the same with louis’.

the feeling of that gentle touch causes shivers to race down harry’s spine and the hair on his arms stand on end. harry’s heart visibly skips a beat and starts pumping a little bit faster in louis’ hand.

“i’ll give it back to you when i’m good and ready and not a second before, harold.” he smirks, but his eyes are incredibly fond and bright. “you know the rules.”

“yes, i do,” harry says. “just make sure it all gets put back together properly when you’re done.”

“please, i’ve put you back together so many times, i could do it with my eyes closed. i’m hardly new to the way your body looks on the inside, darling.”

harry smiles. “and i can say the same for you. but, you know, I am curious as to how all that blood got on your face.”

at that, louis’ face flushes again and his eyebrows furrow slightly. “harry,” he says, a hint of warning in his tone that harry happily ignores.

“were you kissing it or just rubbing it all over your face, hm? there’s so much blood on you; it’s kind of ridiculously adorable.”

louis rolls his eyes in exasperation and sighs. “shut up, you have no right to tease me. not with how affectionate you get with _my_ heart.”

and harry just giggles, because he’s right, obviously, and he’s not afraid to admit it, that he loves this boy, his boy, so much and he tells him so, his cheek dimpling with the force of his smile.

“yeah yeah.” louis leans down and presses a sticky, iron tasting kiss to harry’s mouth. “love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: I have a good deal of the series already planned out and sort of written up, though it is not yet complete. I have a pretty good idea how many parts there will be, though, and I know what each part will entail. I’m aiming for updating the series every other Friday, depending on real life.
> 
> Also, if someone could teach me how to link things in these notes, that would be brilliant!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
